


Arsonist's Lullaby

by Heavydirtys0ul, things-we-used-tc-share (Heavydirtys0ul)



Series: Wasteland, Baby! [24]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Not exactly evil he knows what he's doing, Remus is chaotic, but you don't, no violence but shouting and clearly a Bad Father, small abuse tw between the --
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavydirtys0ul/pseuds/Heavydirtys0ul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavydirtys0ul/pseuds/things-we-used-tc-share
Summary: if you go down to the woods today,you better not go alone.





	Arsonist's Lullaby

_"When I was a child I heard voices,_

_some would sing and some would scream,_

_you'll soon find you have few choices,_

_I learned the voices die with me," _

_-Arsonist's Lullaby, Hozier_

* * *

The clouds seem darker over here, like they're trying to tell him something. Patton's feet press against the Earth as he stumbles with a brain on fire, his mind aching with noise as he tries to follow each and every voice he can hear. Voices he hasn't heard in a long time, voices that he'd thought he'd outgrown as a child, these voices had disappeared when they discovered that they were only causing him pain. 

But the clouds talk to the water and the forest, and they see all and know all, these omnipotent beings have seen this moment a thousand times even if it's the first time that Patton is feeling it, hearing it, sensing it. And the clouds have voices too. 

The thing about being Human is that our ears only tune into what we recognise, the wind is the wind, and the lapping of sea waves are just that, the sound of rain patter only a comfort we never learned to communicate with. Faeries were brought into the world to communicate with these forces, to understand them and act as a bridge between things that understand them, and things that do not. Roman was created to speak on behalf of the forest to those who can't understand it, Logan was created to speak on behalf of the water for those who cannot understand it. Humans? _We_ are the ones who do not understand, but as is Human nature to kill anything they don't quite know, that bridge long since burned. 

And _now_ we have Patton. 

\--

_15 years ago_

"I'm not lying," Patton protests his father's harsh words "I'm not! I can hear voices, here," He points to his temple "They're so loud an' I don't hear them well but they're there!" Patton's mother places soothing hands on her son's shoulder to try and calm his distress, but Patton's father shoves her away, she stumbles against the cabinet and hits her head, her son starts crying.

"Listen here _boy,_" He grabs the young boy the scruff of his shirt and lifts him onto the table, pointing a finger directly into his face "You don't hear anything, you hear me? You'll stop talking about this..._shit_, and you'll do as you're told, do you hear me?" Patton sniffles, tears streaking his face as his father shakes him roughly **_"I said do you hear me?"_** The little boy nods frantically as his father lifts him back to the floor and then shoves him "Go to your room, now, _go_!"

The child doesn't need to be told twice as he scrambled up the stairs in time for the door to shut, and more noise to be added to his already screaming head. 

By the time he wakes up the next morning, the voice have stopped talking. 

\--

The memory feels real, Patton notes, but he can't be all together sure anymore. He doesn't know where he is or where he's going, or when this forest got so _big_? Perhaps he's just walking in circles. There are places, things, ideas that don't feel like his own but his mind recalls them as though they're a memory, and currently this is occurring one straight after the other; some he remembers as his own and some that he really does not. But they feel as though he could have lived them. Somehow, somewhere, in a body that isn't his own. A branch cracks underneath his feet and his vacant eyes come back to the present to stare. The twig is amongst a leafy ground but the grass underneath it is covered in frost; Patton exhales in fear, his hands freezing cold and his breath thin in front of him. 

_"Shit," _

He looks behind him and in front but can see no company, and he dreads with all his might to look above him because somehow he knows there will be hundreds of glinting eyes staring back. Patton stumbles back against the tree, palm scraping the rough texture as he stumbles back.

_How long had he been in Winter for?_

The man swallows dryly and screws his eyes shut before he hears a low whistle and the sound of trees rustling, little whispers and they all sound disappointed. _"This one's mine,"_ he hears a voice like a whisper, accent almost a drawl and somehow echoing through his head as if the words were thought, not spoken. Hundreds of hungry faeries retreat at the sound and somehow, in some way, Patton knows who he's about to meet. He seems to be knowing a lot of things that have no logical explanation to be known by him, but there is only one person the Winter Fae answer to; _their prince._ "It's quite nice to meet you at last, or at least...one of you," A little hum against his ear and all the hairs on the back of Patton's neck stand in terror. He can feel breath on the back of his neck, and his icy eyes close to stifle the tears brimming in them. 

He _knows_ he's about to die. 

The voice continues "I was wondering when one of you would show up, I was even placing bets, would it be the Siren...who is clearly more suited for our kind than the Spring, the Witch who is constantly helping us with our everlasting ice issue, or you...the Human, or not quite anyway, maybe once," A hand lands on Patton's arm, he sees the talon-like black nails and whimpers "Oh honey, I can't hurt you in a way that matters," Patton swallows and slowly, but surely, he turns with his eyes on the ground to stare at thick, black leather boots, trailing up to meet glinting green eyes. The nails trail from his hand to his neck, a single finger trailing up over his throat to rest under his chin. Two large green wings are outstretched, with black swirls that seem to bleed from the edges. His face is so familiar, the same jawline and the same nose, same plump lips but with differences dark black hair and teeth so sharp they could rip someone's throat straight out. Otherwise, he could've been _Roman_.

"Wh-what do you mean?" The man whispers, looking up with bated breath. 

"You know my brother could do with listening a little more, his Siren has, and so have _we_," The grin on his face is anything but nice, no it spells seventeen different kinds of death with those curved fangs, the pale skin almost bloodless; and yet anyone who has otherwise met the Prince of Winter would know he is anything but without blood. Just not as often his own. "And well, with that in mind, bye!" The movement is so fluid that Patton barely catches it, a knife drives straight through his abdomen and he staggers backwards, panting and breathless. The Faery grins manically, waving a hand daintily "Have a nice nap!"

_"Keep calm little one, it's okay, it's only the plan,"_ The voices again in his head, and now finally they speak together instead of over each other. For the first time since he was a child, they talk in sync, using him. His mind supplies information so quickly he isn't sure it's his own; there's something wrong about this. Winter Fae kill for meat, if the stranger wanted him completely dead he would've gone for the heart. He didn't. Patton doesn't understand until he falls onto the grass, and as his blood touches the floor, his entire body seemed to scream. The clouds thunder in anger, and rain begins to pour. 

And Patton? He sighs a little and closes his eyes as he lets the plan take it's course, lulled to sleep by gentle song of a thousand higher voices in the clouds.


End file.
